substance abuse

Little Bird of Heaven

admin — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 16:51:00 +0000

Oates' thirty-sixth novel grapples with familiar themes: the rocky underside of marriage, racial injustice, childhood trauma, sexual obsession, and the ways gender plays out among various subsets of the U.S. working classes.

The story is set in fictitious Sparta, New York, a once thriving town seven-to-eight hours north of Manhattan. A former center of industry, the area was left high-and-dry when the factories that employed almost everyone relocated in the 1970s. Within a decade, those left in Sparta were scraping by any way they could, with a sizable cohort involved in the sale and production of crystal meth. Yes, the Sparta of Little Bird of Heaven is hoping for a comeback, but until then, most of the locals seem resigned to quelling their boredom and their nerves with drugs and drinks.

It’s a bleak landscape, made worse when thirty-four-year-old Zoe Kruller, a popular—and beautiful—Caucasian lounge singer, is found dead in her bedroom, her throat slashed and her head bashed in. Immediately after the body is found, tongues wag and there is rampant speculation: Did her long-time lover, the married Eddy Diehl, kill her? Or might her ex-husband, the part-Indian Delroy Kruller, be responsible? Some suggested that Zoe turned tricks to support a heroin habit, their gossip implying that any number of men might have done the deed.

There’s fodder for a solid who-done-it here, but Oates goes further, zooming in on the psychological conundrum facing several of Zoe’s survivors. Krista Diehl, Eddy’s adolescent daughter, is introduced first. From her perch, Eddy is an adoring, if substance abusing, parent. While her child-like disregard for her mother is maddening, her need to be daddy’s little girl is heartbreaking. What’s more, since Krista refuses to entertain the possibility of her father’s guilt, she fiercely defends against all suggestions of his complicity in Zoe’s demise.

Aaron Kruller, Zoe and Delroy’s son, also enters the mix. Aaron is one hundred percent certain that Eddy killed his mom. Sure, his folks had a combative relationship, and sure, his dad drinks too much, but Aaron can’t wrap his mind around Delroy being Zoe’s killer. As far as Aaron is concerned, Eddy is guilty and he is filled with rage that Eddy was investigated but never charged.

Not surprisingly, when Krista and Aaron—both teenagers—find themselves in the same place shortly after the murder, things go awry. But not in the way you’d expect. Suffice it to say that there’s sexual tension between them—perhaps it’s the fine line between love and hate. Their encounter is brief, but the possibility of a violent outcome hovers menacingly throughout.

In fact, it’s such an ugly moment, that neither Krista nor Aaron can forget it. Seventeen years later, when the two meet again for the first time since the incident, sparks fly and it is here that Oates’ writing is at its best. Emotionally gripping and creepily unsettling, the scene questions the power we give the past and peers into the long-term effects of unprocessed childhood trauma. That Krista is eventually able to take control of her life comes almost as an epiphany. And Aaron? The book offers no clues. Whether he will ever move past his mom’s death, his dad’s negligence, and his own worst impulses remains an open question.

One of Zoe’s signature songs spoke of the “little bird of heaven right here in my hand.” As Krista moves forward, she reminds us of our power to overcome the damage of a traumatic childhood. Maybe that’s one form of heaven: Forgiving, if not forgetting, so that we can be fully present in the here-and-now.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, October 7th 2009

Freeing Tammy: Women, Drugs, and Incarceration

admin — Tue, 04 Sep 2007 18:57:00 +0000

By Jody Raphael

University Press of New England

Meet Tammara Johnson, an ex-19 year heroin addict, ex-prisoner and now a job development trainer for an in-patient drug treatment program. Freeing Tammy is the final book of a trilogy that discusses women, poverty and violence. Raphael brings to light the circumstances that plague women in poor communities, especially black women, for survival within their community - a survival that reaches all realms of the existence of women combating abusive relationships, childhood sexual abuse and drugs.

A correlation of these factors is presented within the existence of Tammy’s life. We are taken on a journey beginning with her making progress to kick her heroin addiction to going to jail for holding drugs within her home for a drug dealer. While in prison, Tammy’s son, Terrance, is left behind to live with his aunt and struggle with the realization that his mother is in jail and his father is an alcoholic that can’t provide the parental involvement he needs.

Freeing Tammy not only effectively revolves around Tammy’s incarceration experience, but shows the reader the inner working of our prison system. Raphael provides in-depth research, interviews and statistical data regarding women in prison and its effects on their self-esteem and dignity as a woman and a human being. A passage in the book reflects this point: “In prison the effects of being stripped of your dignity and your self-esteem have a long lasting effect. It has an effect that is so damaging that I don’t even think that therapy can take it away.” She opened the door of the reader’s mind to the dehumanization, humiliation and disregard of a woman’s identity in prison.

I was expecting the book to be solely about Tammy, but was thrown off by the research data, yet welcomed the opportunity to learn about our criminal justice system and the subconscious behavior exhibited by authority to degrade and belittle a female criminal. Jody Raphael created an exciting mixture of the data, which was easy to read and thoroughly pleasing.

Written by: LaToya Rogers, September 4th 2007

Mommy's Angel

admin — Thu, 07 Jun 2007 13:30:00 +0000

By Miasha

Touchstone Books

Most savvy feminists can argue their way through complex social problems such as sexual violence, poverty and drug use. Most savvy feminists, though, could not articulate those issues though a fast-paced, sharply written story like Mommy’s Angel. Dubbed as “a writer to watch” by Publishers Weekly,” Miasha tells the heartbreaking story of one fifteen year old girl’s steel gut and courage in her battle for survival with a heroin-addicted mother and a web of deceit and manipulation.

Miasha depicts some of the most pressing issues of feminism by mixing city street vernacular into the cycle of modern day oppression that fuels the most heated debates in western feminism. Can forms of sex work and stripping be considered modes of empowerment for young women? What forms of intervention can adeptly disrupt the cycle of addiction, rape and teen pregnancy? This work of fictional brilliance is a succinct glimpse into the heart of young girls who seek family redemption, reliable and safe options, and relief from domestic hell.

This jarring novel is loaded with emotion as it takes the reader through the struggle of one woman who is, chronologically, a teen, but takes on adult responsibilities and choices as she hopes, torments and fights through the vicious hands of urban poverty and rape. With a smart-mouthed younger sister, a loving boyfriend, an abusive employer, and a handful of irresistible page-turning characters, Miasha has constructed a feminist rollercoaster that serves as an important catalyst to explore the painful intersection of social issues facing young women today.

This novel, like everyday life, reminds us that our discourse and intentions must be inclusive, updated and knowledgeable of the realities plaguing our inner-city communities. It serves as a wake-up call that concerned readers must be able to adequately recognize the strategic anti-poverty agendas from the blithe political plans that are often addressed in binary jargon that do little to alleviate the suffering of the oppressed.

After completing the novel in one sitting combined with a stunning ending that left me staring, non-blinking at the ceiling, Mommy’s Angel will haunt your conversations and linger in your personal thoughts for days after the last page is turned.

Written by: Lisa Factora-Borchers, June 7th 2007

How to be a Model (A 12 Step Plan)

admin — Mon, 07 May 2007 19:04:00 +0000

Directed by Allison Beda

a Muse Productions

How to be a Model (A 12 Step Plan) is everything you didn’t anticipate. This ex-model uses her newfound filmmaking skills to take viewers behind the scenes of this not-so-glamorous lifestyle, and - instead of teaching us how to become a model - she teaches us how to recover from modeling. Beda says “to be a model necessitates recovering from being a model,” and that is why the 12-step program shows the audience how to survive the harsh realities of modeling rather than how to enter this grueling industry.

The film follows Beda’s friend, Peggi Lepage, a 28-year-old international model with “one-more-year syndrome.” Through this, the audience sees the real world of modeling, not the glitzy stuff shown on TV and in movies. We learn the hardships, such as the daily battles most models have with their self-esteem, the strains on their relationships and, of course, the steps.

Naturally, step one is to meet the physical requirements. Most already know that only a small percentage of people actually have bodies that meet these requirements. According to Beda, 90% of the known world cannot be a model based on their physical measurements. We also learn, through a later step entitled “Are you really meeting the physical requirements?” that even models with the "correct" height, bust and waist size may not be what the market wants. Many models have plastic surgery, and one in ten do not have an eating disorder.

Another step, instructs viewers to have an anchor in the “real” world. Since, as Beda illustrates, the modeling industry simply uses and disposes its models, the assistance of people outside this world is essential. Peggi’s anchor is her mother Patricia, who supports her daughter, but, through tears, expresses her unhappiness with Peggi’s decision to subject herself to such a cruel industry.

Models must also plan on being alone. Friendships last around six weeks, and are disposable. Many girls in the film say they thought modeling would help them make friends, but because of the lifestyle, this isn’t the reality. Also, depression inevitably shadows their lonely existence.

Beda’s last step advises anyone considering modeling to have a second career in mind. Youth is what the agencies and market want, therefore, you cannot model forever. And, as many of the models attest to, modeling is better when you have something to fall back on.

The film also teaches viewers some model lingo. We also learn that “go-sees” are when models walk into agencies and see who can get them work. This often requires walking for miles and hours. The previously mentioned term one-more-year syndrome describes how a large number of models tell themselves they’ll model for only another year, but many never keep this promise. This is because, as Beda shows, modeling is addicting, despite all of its severities.

Laced with humorous sarcasm, tears and new beginnings, How to be a Model (A 12 Step Plan) demystifies the unforgiving world of modeling, while showcasing the enlightening journeys of career models as well as Beda’s transition into the more rewarding art of filmmaking.

Written by: Michelle Tooker, May 7th 2007

Emergency Contact

admin — Mon, 07 May 2007 01:36:00 +0000

By Tara-Michelle Ziniuk

McGilligan Books

If there is a politic of poetry at stake in Emergency Contact, it stems as much from the a politicized urban landscape, as it does from the poetic representation of that setting. Against the familiar backdrop of a neighbourhood in the process of an irrevocable gentrification, Ziniuk records the objects, people and small hi-stories―perhaps otherwise unregistered―of Toronto’s west end neighbourhood Parkdale. This is not nostalgia for an idea of authenticity via poverty, but a poetic document that condemns both the past ―remembering “the holiday season when the notorious…landlords” abandoned “31 floors of families without heat or electricity for almost a week”―and the future, symbolized by the novelty shop that sells “$30 felt-letter shirts claiming “Parkdale is for Lovers.” Without an acceptable past or future, Ziniuk carves out a space in the present to search for something “more long-term than Emergency,” something that is markedly aware of the problems of contingent plans and temporary solutions (“I live my life in increments./ Trish says we should stop that.”)

Collected into four parts, this is poetry to be reckoned with. It tackles political themes like poverty, gentrification, mental illness, gender and substance abuse through a ferociously poetic vision that handles themes of love, loss and identity with as much conviction. Participating in those age-old questions about the social and political obligations of poetry, Ziniuk reminds us that “people who decide their politics are also, usually also/ the ones to leave them,” and that “anarchy is not inherently against love.”

This is poetry as the expression of a personal politics that won’t allow itself the complacency of obvious definitions yet still grants us “our distinct ability to identify one another.” The question Ziniuk seems to ask is “based on what?” The politics presented in this collection resist the facility of either/or definitions and refuse a homogeneous signification of identity even (and especially) if identity politics is central.

Idealism ends fast. I am peeling stickers that say 'Feminists Fuck Better' and 'Violence Against Women, No Excuse' off my coffee table. Not that I don’t still believe it, I just don’t need the stickers anymore.

This reluctance to buy into the rhetoric of stickers, trademarked revolutions and marketing ploys rather than the substance of a political position has particular importance at the local sex worker drop-in centre, where Jane Doe is “not here simply for the good of/ the hookers.” Rather she is a “confident, capital ‘F’ feminist, card-carrying” utterly different from the girls living “outside the system without/a card to say they’ve politics, or a joke to explain/ themselves with” and utterly foreign to the poet and politics defined by Emergency Contact.

Written by: Kate Morris, May 6th 2007

Life Support

admin — Sat, 21 Apr 2007 22:00:00 +0000

Directed by Nelson George

HBO Films

HIV isn't the death sentence that it used to be, but that doesn't mean it isn't affecting people's lives in enormous ways. Life Support is a new film starring Queen Latifah, inspired by a true story, that tackles the complexities of living with the virus, particularly as low-income, women of color. This film couldn't come at a better time, as infection rates continue to grow among young, African American girls. It is said that the disease is getting younger, darker, and more female, and Life Support shows the importance of prevention and of letting people see the human side of those living with HIV.

Queen Latifah plays the part of Ana, an HIV+ mother of two and sex education outreach worker, who comes from a background of drug addiction and other "high risk" behavior. Her oldest daughter, Kelly (Rachel Nicks) lives with Ana's mother (Anna Deavere Smith) and harbors much anger and resentment toward Ana for her past mistakes. Ana wants nothing more than to rekindle a love bond with her daughter before Kelly leaves the city to start her own life. Both struggle to combine their own self-interest with their relationships with loved ones in a tumultuous journey. Life Support is an emotional tribute to the thousands of people touched by HIV and props to HBO for making this film available.

Written by: Mandy Van Deven, April 21st 2007

B.I.K.E.

admin — Sun, 08 Apr 2007 01:31:00 +0000

Directed by Anthony Howard, Jacob Septimus

Fountainhead Films

In case you thought B.I.K.E. was just a movie about bikes… well, it is, but you might be surprised at the ground it covers. From filmmakers Anthony Howard (Tony) and Jacob Septimus, B.I.K.E. delves into the lives of the members of the Black Label Bike Club in New York City. Access to the Black Label New York subculture is mediated by Tony and his desperate attempts to gain entrance to the elite ranks of Black Label. Both filmmaker and main character, Tony becomes the epicenter of the film. As such, the strongest narrative is about the desire to belong to something in a national culture that stresses both individualism and the proliferation of subcultures.

For Tony, almost nothing is as important as being a member of Black Label, and yet his entrance into the club is consistently withheld. Tony struggles with substance abuse and increasingly erratic behaviors, but his commitment to Black Label seems unquestionably strong – he’s even making a movie. A looming question in the film is why isn’t Tony part of the club? Whatever the reasons may be, it is revealed that even “outlaws” have rules, regulations and serious degrees of exclusivity.

The issues raised in the film run the gamut from class differences to political motives. For example, the New York chapter identifies as being mostly “middle class art school kids”, compared to the original Minneapolis chapter members – some who lived in junkyards. BLBC New York drives to the national Black Label get-together in Minneapolis with their bikes strapped to their Land Rover SUV’s and Mercedes station wagons—a perhaps unintentional irony not explored in the film. Such moments that offer untouched avenues of departure might leave some viewers wanting. Though originally thrown off by the film’s main focus, I found myself caught up in every moment, down to Tony’s tragicomic formation of his own bike club.

If you’re looking for action, B.I.K.E. does have its share of dramatic bicycle screen shots, tall bikes, freak bikes, even jet bikes. I would have gladly appreciated greater digging into some of the more delicate club issues that crop up from time to time, but as it stands, B.I.K.E. provides for both bike enthusiasts and green thumbs a fascinating peak at a distinct and previously unexplored subculture. It doesn’t shy away from intensity, which some might take as melodrama. And for all the difficult questions that can be asked about social systems, it doesn’t attempt to toss out cheap and easy platitudes, instead trusting viewers to mull things over for themselves.

Written by: Lillian B., April 7th 2007